Signed, Sealed, Delievered
by Spockologist
Summary: Captain Steve Rogers was kept in a basement until the Avengers initiative was put into action. What was the driving force behind that? One-Shot, non slash.


**First time writing Captain America verse! I wasn't sure if I wanted to put this in the Avengers genre or here, but given that it's mainly from Steve's POV, we'll stick it here. **

**Hopefully everything is OC and movie accurate! It's been awhile since I've watched anything Marvel. **

He remembered Peggy's voice.

The shock of impact.

How cold it was….

And then blackness.

~o0o~

The condition of the ship seemed well intact from the outside. But it was hard to tell from the amount of snow drifting over the shell to get much else out of it. A detailed scan would be taken when the proper equipment could be shipped out, but for now, a hole was cut through and safety lines dropped as a few men repelled down.

Agent Phil Coulson stood quietly outside in the howling winds; his hands clasped tightly in front of him; leaning forward eagerly. The only sign of his well known enthusiasm for the World War Two war hero was the grin he couldn't keep off his face.

The radio crackled in his hand and he held his breath as the description came through. Every few words cut off by the poor reception and the bad weather conditions.

"Cargo area secure…..no damage to the safety structures…. Sign of weather damage evident on emergency door. Making way to cockpit."

Coulson held his breath.

He could hear the shout despite the wind.

"We've got a body." The radio cut off again. "Underneath the steering controls. Completely- ice. Good preservation….-stretcher….make that a pulley. Must weigh a ton. Photo documentation com- in."

Coulson pushed his way to the front of the viewing screen; letting out an unprofessional whoop that won hidden smiles from his co-workers.

They had him.

~o0o~

He could hear voices. Some kind of high pitched whining sound like the blades on a fighter plane starting up. The voices grew more excited.

"He's alive!"

Oh, good. He'd survived the forced landing. They'd take care of him.

Everything would be fine.

~o0o~

"Vital signs stabilizing, sir." There was a grin in the chief medical officer's voice. "Despite all odds, he's going to make it."

Director Fury looked pleased. Coulson was barely containing himself in the corner.

"The frostbite seems…..to be healing itself, sir." He looked sheepish. "We can't quite explain it, but-

"I can." Coulson's quiet voice spoke up. "The serum increases everything. Good, bad, everything. He's going to heal faster than anything we've ever seen."

Fury smiled. "Perfect,"

~o0o~

The images grew fuzzy around the edges. Peggy's face…..Bucky's smile…. Something was starting to nag at him. Coaxing, prodding, wishing him awake. Like his mom on cold school days when all he wanted was five more minutes.

Just five more minutes.

That's all he needed.

~o0o~

They left him in a room to himself. Decorated to look like a hospital from his era-the psychologist's idea. Despite the security cameras and hidden monitors scattered throughout, the room looked cheerful, cozy even.

Phil spent his lunch breaks sitting in the little white chair by the bed admiring. He brought work too, reports and files to sort through, but for the most part, he sat, hopeful, like the boy waiting for his model plane to dry.

Tomorrow.

He was sure of it.

~o0o~

He woke with the feeling something was wrong. The radio played quietly from a corner and he listened intently to the voice.

He knew that voice.

It was baseball. That game was from May, nineteen forty one. A good year. He and Bucky had gotten great seats.

But why would that be playing on the radio?

He sat up slowly; tense.

The door opened and a nurse with Peggy's hair color came in. She smiled.

"Good morning, or should I say, afternoon?"

He studied her closely, hiding the rising sense of panic that filled him.

"Where am I?"

"A recovery room in New York City."

Part of him snapped. His voice turned threatening as he stepped forward. All the military training and intimidation tactics growled out as he repeated: "Where am I really?"

She looked scared. He'd frightened her. Good.

The door flew open and soldiers in black swarmed the room. His defensive crouch was instinctive.

Something was wrong.

~o0o~

Coulson heard c_ode thirteen _voiced over his ear piece and bolted from his office.

They had him.


End file.
